Desc: Erotic Sex Story: Mila Brooks wants to break up with her demon-alike lover, Chase Hughes, but then they end up fucking and spanking each other.

When I open the door, the delivery man stands right here before my very own eyes with a very bright and big smile, saying out happily and composedly the words, "Good morning, Miss Mila Brooks."

I don't want to be rude to him, but honestly speaking, I woke up in a sour, bitter mood today. With a feigned, insincere, and faked-up smile, I reply him:

"Good morning. What can I do for you, sir?"

He is standing there with a bunch of cutely and amazing-looking flowers. They must be fairly expensive and delicate too. Are they for me? I am wondering quietly and noiselessly.

"I have got this special delivery for you," he intones freely. "It is from a man who honestly and sincerely loves you. Where can I put them please, ma'am?"

"Right here please!" On my living room table that is—it is one hundred per cent glass made and fashioned up. I live here with my two best friends, Chloe and Zoey. Yes! The three of us are all fresh and beautiful girls in their mid and early-on twenties. I am the eldest after Chloe. She is twenty-seven; I am twenty-six; and Zoey is just twenty-one years old.

There is a note brought along with the flowers which I detect and come across after the delivery man is gone away and disappeared. It indicates:

Hi, sweetie. I am missing you big time; I hope to see you at my album lunch tonight at 8 here in Las Vegas. Yours faithfully; Chase Hughes.

Chase Hughes is a popular musician and actor here in Hollywood. He is a member and singer of the well-liked boy band—Butterfly Boys. They are just the three of them; Chase Hughes and his dearly most treasured two buddies: Dylan Moore and Carter Martins. Together, in a career spanning over six damn years and two wildly successful albums, they have sold over 35 million albums and grossed a net worth of over a hundred and fifteen million dollars. Oh yes! They are really that rich and successful; but not so is my on-and-off, sex-and-fight relationship with Chase himself. I work for the Paparazzi, and it was through my job and field that I got to meet and fall in love with him. For now, we are not seeing each other, possibly thinking up to break our bond and continue on with our prosperous lives as before. Chase is a living hell and stunning handsome Son of The Devil all in one! Screw him for it!

My phone rings three hours later. I am at work. The Graham House of Paparazzi which is—organizing and collecting up stuff. Of course! This is Zoey Williams calling to find out what plans I specifically have—if any—for tonight. She sounds moderately happy and ecstatic. "Would you mind going out for dinner with Chloe-y and I? It is going to be much more fun and amusement, I promise, my dearest girlfriend."

I breath and heave out a sigh of relief. "The Butterfly Boys are releasing their third studio album tonight in Downtown. I have to be there, Zoey."

She abruptly sounds a bit disappointed and let down. "Why? Do you still have feelings for Chase? I thought that you guys are over and done with. Are you doing this just so you can please and support him, Mila?"

"No, Zoey. You are right. Chase and I are through and finished with. There is no way on planet Earth I am going to give him another damn second chance. It won't happen please. If I will be there at his album lunch, it is because he is a celebrity and I work for the Paparazzi—meaning that my job here is to chase and stalk after wildly popular superstars like him. Do you clearly get this, darling?"

"Sure, Mila!"I can imagine my petite but tall Zoey rolling and wheeling her eyes in sheer disenchantment and annoyance. Is she seriously all that annoyed and vexed up with me? Is she—honestly speaking?

I am finally home at long last. Once I am in my private and tastefully-furnished bedroom, I toss my handbag onto my bed and quickly hurry to my closet to chuck its white-painted doors open and then anxiously look inside the wee, immaculate breathing space. What specifically am I going to wear this special night? What really?

I think this bright, darkish red glittering dress will frankly do—goodness, it ends somewhere mid my thighs, meaning it's supposed to be a reserved mini, right? On my chest, it has got this wonderful and breathtaking decorations of feathers and flower-made stuff and so on. It looks plain damn gorgeous and magnificent! I definitely think I am going to be en-ravishing and glorious-alike in it tonight. Definitely!

How about putting on high heels? Of course! This will also be wonderful and excellent! My stilettos must be wholly black. I will also have to thoroughly darken my light brown hair to match and impeccably harmonize with them. I myself Mila in deep black hair? It would be quite incredible and amazing too. I love brunette dark hair. It is like the most awesome thing ever!

My long, shiny, sparkly-like hair will be curled and twirled lavishly, I presume. Any other better idea? I don't marginally think that one more does exist. I have to do and dye my hair up in like two hours before it becomes deeply dark and lightless out there. My nails need to be chopped and hacked up too. This is all such an easy thing and task altogether. My legs? I last shaved them in like two months. Oh yeah. I am not all this excessively hairy and woolly like most men and even some women are. But as I will be drop-dead and alluring in a mini tonight, I better be on the safe and harmless side. Anything can happen. I can trip or fall down those damn soaring stairs, scratching and clawing my legs so that I bleed and suffer terrible pain as a result, and just exactly how do I first-aid and treat myself in this particular kind of situation? Huh? I better be safe than sorry, baby!

I am about to leave when Zoey and Chloe arrive. They are just the two of them, glittery and gorgeous in black jeans and jackets, and they are carrying plastics and bags filled with vegetables, meat, chocolate, and the sort. Chocolate? It definitely and absolutely is my favorite!

"You are leaving us, girlfriend?" Chloe asks with a shocked, staggered, and dumbfound-seeming expression. How exactly do I explain this to her? Too bad, I won't be available for a girls-night exclusively sort of event. I like to spoil up my friends a little bit; but then I am awfully and regrettably sorry about my deliberate absence this particular night.

"She's going to the Butterfly Boy's latest album lunch. She is dying to see Chase one more time, I am imagining," Zoey relates with a gloomy and darksome countenance. I glare at her reprovingly for that.

"It's not like I am dying to see that moron, Zoey."

"Whatever," she rolls and wheels her eyes like she is habitually fond and affectionate of doing. Damn her for it! Who is she now? My dating and girl Guide to Men and Bachelors or let's plainly say my tutor?

"Have the best of luck," Chloe tells me, proceeding on to pat and tap my shoulder and back gently with her hand. Thank goodness for this! I was in serious need and lack of it especially.

Chase is one such bad wicked guy. He calls himself a freaking 'Son of the Devil.' If you get to pay a random visit to his home, you will definitely know what I am talking about here. At his house, there are crosses turned upside down—hung and dangling in almost every room imaginable. Oh yes—even in his private toilet, can you just picture this? On some cross-correlated picture frames, instead of there being Jesus Christ, there hangs and droops down a certain kind of intensely handsome naked man with ash blond hair, who is this horribly wounded and gushed and bleeding all over. In his dining room, the bottles of wine here all contain and hold wine that looks as deep and darkly red as blood itself. This is actual wine in any case. Dolls of dragons and vampires and ghouls lie sprawled carelessly and recklessly on his bed. There are even serpents, pythons and poisonous vipers to be exact, in his lounging room, slithering and hissing their way fiercely. At odd, bloodcurdling times I do frankly think that Chase is Satan himself clothed and attired in human flesh and blood. Why does he have to be all this scary and ghoulish? Honestly questioning—why?

"Are you a worshipper of the Devil?" I asked him this the other time I was there at his house. I can't specifically remember when it was essentially.

"No; I just worship myself."

"Why, Chase? I believe that there is only one God who is worthy of being worshipped."

He smiled scarily and eerily-like at me; is he human or demon? I can't exactly tell. "I am just joking by saying this, Mila. I know all this religious stuff and bits and pieces. You don't have to teach or coach me anything about it from A to Z."

"Then what are these venomous vipers and deadly pythons doing here in your house?"

"They are not all that poisonous and deadly actually. I habitually remove their poison if they start to develop or contain any. These small, cutely little creatures are like my best friends here at home. As you can see, this place was once infested and crowded disastrously with rats and mice. I hate cats. Being around them makes me seriously and awfully sick; and so I had to keep snakes and serpents to get totally done and rid with them. Do you get this, Mila?"